


Giving Thanks

by theheadandthekin



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Humor, Kissing, Smut, Swearing, Underworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:58:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5311988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadandthekin/pseuds/theheadandthekin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crane goes to retrieve Abbie in the underworld, post-S3-mid-season finale. It's a trip that changes everything between them--in a good way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr.

Jenny and Joe show up at the door with Chinese take-out, two fifths of bourbon whiskey, a very large jar of pickles, and a rather forced chorus of ‘Happy Thanksgiving.’

He’s in no mood for company, can muster no gratitude despite the holiday, nor any tolerance for celebration, but he allows them in, and only then because he’s following her orders.

_Take care of each other.  
_

Not that he particularly wants to be the recipient of any sort of _care._ The only thing he wants is her return, to see her warm, alive, whole, back in _this_ world, to feel her fingertips graze his when he hands her a mug of tea.

He’s spent the past six days in a frenzy of research and speculation, successful in having a better idea about where she might be, but still without sound guidance on how to retrieve her.

In his better moments, he’s aware that the frenzy is close to madness, and that he is near desperate enough, foolish enough, to tread paths of both extraordinary corporeal and metaphysical danger.

This is, thankfully, a better moment.

Jenny’s eyes flick to the ‘FBI Academy 2015′ logo on the sweatshirt he found in the laundry. At the quirk of her eyebrow, he self-consciously straightens the garment; he hasn’t bothered with his regular attire all week, having instead raided her dresser–so-called ‘good fences’ be damned–for the larger t-shirts and sweatshirts she occasionally slept in, or wore around the house. 

He feels a bit ridiculous, but given the circumstances, is not about to _give enough of a fuck_ –as she would say–to stop doing it.

“It’s cool.” Jenny shrugs, and pushes past him in the entryway.

“Hey, gotta eat, man,” Joe says simply, proffering a plastic bag.

He takes it and closes the door against the chilly November wind. If only for a few hours, at least they will bring some needed life to the empty house.

* * *

Jenny looks so little like her sister, but he can detect Abbie’s shadow in her movements, the set of her jaw. She glances at the kitchen to make sure Joe is still occupied with the dishes.

“Thanks for encouraging him.”

“I am glad that you were receptive to Master Corbin’s affections.”

She can’t keep the brief, bright smile from her face, and he suspects ‘receptive’ is a rather significant understatement on his part.

“Look, it’s not my place, Crane. But I owe you one, you know?”

“No, Miss Jenny …” he warns, though he’s not sure whether she’s referring to her recent rescue or his advice to his friend. Neither require a return.

Her eyes soften and take on a gentleness that’s a mirror his partner’s, and the deep ache in his chest throbs anew. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to wind this up. Abbie’s … Crane, she loves you–”

“Miss Jenny, you needn’t …”

“No, you need to listen to me. She can give you a hard time, but you should hear how she talks about you. God, do you know how much she missed you? How much you hurt her? How afraid she is of her feelings for you? Whatever she’s facing right now, she is going to work her ass off to get back here, and it isn’t because of me, her friends, her job.”

She sighs.

“It’s because of _you.”_

He thinks about her efforts to maintain a distance from him, her boundaries, her enthusiasm towards Zoe, of all things, all the times she seemed to know he would say something _more_ and instead deflected the conversation to the trivial, the humorous, the flippant. Jenny would of course be trying to tend his wounds, even if it meant lying a little.

“I understand your sister holds me in higher esteem than I deserve, especially after abandoning her for so many months. I have been ever grateful for her friendship and all that she has sacrificed to see me safe, fed, clothed, sheltered.”

Jenny rolls her eyes. 

“Oh my God. You’re an idiot. You both are. Joe!” She calls. “Tell Crane he’s an idiot!”

He doesn’t even look look up from the sink when he calls back, deadpan. “You’re an idiot, Crane.”

Jenny leans over the table and looks him straight in the face.

“She’s in the goddamn _underworld_ , and you’re sitting here moping around _in her clothes,_ trying to get me to believe that you don’t want a life with my sister–wedding bells, white picket fences, kids, lazy Sunday morning _fucking_ –the whole nine yards. That’s _bullshit.”_

He sits silently, fidgeting with his glass. He hates that he isn’t simply able to envision that life, but that the fantasies are well-worn.

She lets him have the moment before prodding him again. “I’m right.”

He’s already heartbroken. What’s the price of admitting it aloud? “You are.”

She slowly grins. “Good, because I’m also right about Abbie. So _I_ suggest you do like Joe; when we get her back, just make a goddamn move already. She’s every bit as in love with you as you are in love with her–I’m serious, Crane, we better not hear from either of you for at least a week.” 

His face heats, and he can’t avoid shifting in his seat. “Well.”

“It’s not a matter of _i_ f _,_ ” she says, in the same way Abbie does, brooking no argument. “And, anyway, I found something in Corbin’s stuff that can help get her back. It’s more a ‘what’ than a ‘how’ but I think it’s important. And you’re going to need to man up to make it work, since I’m one-hundred-percent sure you’re the only one who can.” 

Jenny pulls a bag out of her pocket and dumps its contents on the table: two small, jagged pieces of quartz.

“I can get them to fit together, but they won’t stay together. I just had a _feeling_ about them. And they were tucked into this.”

She produces a small book and holds it up so he can read the spine.

“Ovid.”

“But it’s hollowed out.”

He hums and reaches for the pair of crystals, and before he even touches them, they pull together like magnets. Gingerly, he touches the larger of the interlocked pair with a fingertip.

For a moment, it only vibrates, then, with a harmonic whine, as if warming up, it emits a pale lavender column of light. 

“ _Oh._ I’ve seen this before.In Pandora’s lair–both times it opened, this light surrounded the tree. _”_

“Wow, looks like you have the magic touch.” _  
_

He doesn’t miss her double entendre and raises an eyebrow. “Something to be thankful for, Miss Jenny. I believe this is a _key._ ”

He removes his hand, and the light extinguishes. 

“Let’s try it, then. Maybe we’ll end up with even more to be thankful about before the day’s over. Ready to hit the underworld? Although maybe you want to find something else to wear besides sweats.”

“Indeed.” He glances down. “It wouldn’t do for the Lieutenant to see me thus.” 

“I meant for practical purposes. Abbie’s just gonna tear you out of whatever you’re wearing, anyway.”

“Do not toy with my hopes, although I thank you for your optimism.”

She rises and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Joe and I’ll get things together in the truck. You’re sure about this?”

He’s not, of course. Not about any of it. The tree, a probable descent to the underworld, what will happen when they bring her back. But Jenny’s strategy of going by feel–having a purpose but not a plan– _is_ tempting. Perhaps giving into a bit of recklessness–madness–isn’t so terrible a thing. 

“Indeed, Miss Jenny. Indeed.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Seriously?” Abbie scoffs, still in disbelief she’s standing before the rulers of the Underworld and they both look bored out of their minds.

He–Hades, she assumes, although he hasn’t really introduced himself–rolls his eyes. “Even _I_ don’t make the rules, Witness.”

“Oh, darling, he’ll come,” the woman, probably Persephone, given the moon eyes she’s making at the man seated next to her, interjects. “Although you don’t remember in your mortal form, this isn’t the first time this has happened.”

“So, what, we just hang out and chat until he gets his skinny ass down here. _Great_.”

The goddess shrugs. 

Hades looks around, scanning the fields beyond the open throne room. “I could certainly scare up some deserving souls for you to torment, but I doubt you’d take me up on in.”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

Abbie has a passing familiarity with mythology; nothing should be this easy and their apathy has to be a ruse. “So, okay, say he comes. What’s the trick?”

Hades pauses, looking like he’s thinking, but she thinks she knows better. “Fine. Worst case scenario? I take his heart. But I’m sure he’ll arrive prepared so we can avoid that.”

“Wait, prepared? What do you mean?”

Hades turns to his wife and shakes his head. “It’s every time with these two, isn’t it?”

Abbie’s patience, already thin, is wearing even thinner. “Answer me! What do you mean by ‘take his heart’?”

“Calm down, Witness. He simply needs to bring something that is _yours._ It’s a token exchange, but a necessary one. It could be a … what do you call those slips of paper you use in your time … business cards? It could be a business card. Anyway, as my husband said, the _worst_ possible case would be needing to take his heart.”

“Yeah, I still I don’t get it. Business card? Heart? Not really the same thing.”

Hades throws up his hands. “Millennia. You do this for millennia. And it’s the same story over and over. Aren’t they supposed to learn each time they do this? Mnemosyne needs to get her water checked.”

“It’s no use raving about it.” Persephone lays a hand on Hades’ knee in an obvious effort to keep him settled. 

“If _I_ were mortal, even for a day …”

“Darling, what my husband is trying to say, _poorly_ ,” she says, throwing him a look. “What he’s trying to say is that the rules dictate that for you _both_ to leave our realm without any lasting effects for you in the mortal world, your fellow Witness must bring with him something that is yours and leave it here. If he brings no object with him, his heart will suit.”

“Wow, okay.” She possesses his heart? That meant–

“Unless he kills himself to get here, which would cause some complications. Wife, you pay more attention to them than I do–he won’t do that, right? He hasn’t yet.”

Waving him off with her hand, Persephone rises and descends the stairs to stand at Abbie’s side, her back to Hades. “Ignore him. Do you understand now?”

“I didn’t … I didn’t know.” 

“You’ll have no problem in returning. We have no power over you here because you aren’t dead, and since you’re thorns in our side, we have no desire for you to stay. Honestly,” she drops her voice to whisper, “My husband’s angry because hecan’t _stand_ your husband.”

Abbie bristles at that, she doesn’t trust either of them and their good-cop, bad-cop act, and Crane is certainly _not_ her husband. “He’s _not–”_

“Semantics.” _  
_

Abbie shakes her head, this is part of their game. “No. We haven’t … no vows, definitely no–”

“The mortal mind gives you such strange ideas about time and order. You _are_ , but I see also you are also not _yet_. We never know, although I have no idea why you bother denying yourselves all those pleasures of mortality.”

“Right, I have no idea what that means. Do you have a place I can sit and wait and maybe not talk?”

Persephone smiles at her gently, in the same condescending way as Pandora did, but without the malice. “I could show you, of course, but I don’t want to spoil anything.”

Suddenly, the ground begins to shake.

“It looks like you won’t have to wait for long.” Persephone turns back to Hades. “You’ll behave yourself, won’t you? _Don’t_ provoke him.”

“I’ll be in a _fine_ mood as long as he keeps his mouth shut; at least he found a _key_ instead of blowing my kingdom open like last time. But I am not responsible for _anything_ if he starts ranting.”

Abbie doesn’t want them to see her smile at that, or detect the warmth blooming in her chest, but she can’t help her reaction. Leave it to Crane to apparently spend lifetimes pissing off the god of the Underworld.

She nods up at Hades. “I’ll keep him in line.”

He shakes his head again. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I know. But he tries.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Stop!” The pale man yells from what appears to be a throne, and, with a flick of the wrist, opens a wide crack in the ground between them.

He’s frantic. “Lieutenant!”

Abbie holds up a finger in his direction, indicating she will handle whatever is happening, and backs away from the crack, turning her attention to the pair of figures seated on the dais. “Okay, _whoa._ You _said–”_

“I’m not taking back our agreement, simply adding another clause–because _he_ reminded me. No touching until you’re _both_ back in the mortal realm. I want you _out,_ not treating this as some sort of leisurely escape where you might find a soft bed of flowers to engage in carnal embrace. Fool me once ….” He shakes his head.

“Lieutenant, is that …? What does he mean?”

Abbie glances at him and shrugs. “Apparently, this ain’t our first rodeo. He’s pissed at you, so don’t _talk._ ”

“What have I–?”

“Don’t. Talk.”

“Forgive my husband’s rudeness, Witness,” the woman chimes in. “He’s rather prickly. We’ll proceed without delay so you may both be on your way back to your world.”

“Crane, please tell me you brought along something of mine.”

He raises a questioning eyebrow at her, since he has been ordered not to speak. 

“Look, they need _something_ in exchange for letting me go. Something you have. My gun, my phone, anything.”

He catalogs the things of hers he has on his person and settles on the least important. “Will your water bottle do?”

“Yes, toss it into the abyss,” the seated man says dismissively, then continues with genuine irritation, “Now _get out.”_

“How _petty_ ,” he mumbles _.  
_

When the bottle disappears into the darkness, the crack closes. Now she’s within reach, and he wants so badly to pull her into an embrace, to draw her–

“Don’t even _think_ about it, Witness!”

A stinging oath is on the top of his tongue, but Abbie’s impatient look prevents him from voicing it. “Not worth it, Crane. Let’s go.”

* * *

“You’re unhurt?” He’s trailing behind her, covering ground much more quickly that he expected, though their pace along the road slowed after exiting the open plain.

“Cakewalk compared to Purgatory. Really boring, though.”

“Were they who I thought they were?”

“What, Hades and Persephone? I guess. They didn’t exactly tell me. _Quite_ a couple.” 

“That much is obvious. How long has it been?”

“No idea. Time’s different here–actually, I’m not even sure it exists here at all. I was knocked out by the shard, but came to in the forest. Saw a shade, felt solid, figured I wasn’t dead-dead. Wandered around until I found the two of them. How long for you?”

“Six days.”

“It’s Thanksgiving, then. Did Jenny and Joe feed you?”

He hums.

“Guess I have a lot to be thankful for this year.”

“Indeed,” he agrees, and they walk again in silence until he can’t stand it any longer.

“Lieutenant, what you said about his–Hades’–anger toward me … and the talk of this happening before. I don’t think I follow.”

She stops, and so he does, too, and although she’s facing away, he can see her lift her hand to rub her temple. 

“We can talk about it when we get home. Let’s … let’s just keep moving. I don’t want to risk getting stuck again.” 

“Abbie …”

“Crane, _please._ Just … I _know._ It’s long overdue. But it can keep until we’re safe. You don’t want to lose me? Well, I don’t want to lose _you,_ either.”

* * *

They run up the stairs that spiral around the interior of tree. He has the key in hand, glowing with its strange, glittering purple light, before they even have sight of the door.

* * *

She stumbles out first and he is right at her heels. He’s hurriedly shedding his gear–safely outside the open tree–and is about to pull her to him when, without warning, he’s being shoved _hard_ against the side of the trunk.

She has him pinned, breathing heavily and nostrils flaring, her gaze up at him direct and dark.

He can’t contain his delight, nor does he wish to, considering everything. They need to talk, but that can come later. 

Instead, he easily reverses their positions, hoisting her up against the smooth bark with his hands on her arse, and now she’s grinning and he bends so his face is level with hers …

“How many times, Lieutenant,” he says, his voice coming out a low rumble. “How many times have I wished to do this, rather than biting my tongue?”

“Yeah?” She breathes.

“Yes.” 

“Do it then.”

“I shall,” he whispers against her mouth before he captures her lips in a demanding kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

“Crane …” she murmurs when he moves his lips to trace along her jawline, finally able to draw in enough air to speak.

Five minutes ago, they were in the _Underworld_. Now they’re grinding against a magical tree and she’s already learned that he has something pretty impressive in those ridiculous breeches, his beard is nowhere near as scratchy as she feared, and she is far more turned on by a few minutes of being kissed than any man has the right to cause her to be.

“ _Crane_ ,” she says again, more sharply, trying to get his attention. He groans instead, continuing his exploration down her neck.

So she uses her fingers, already threaded into his hair, to grip his soft waves and tug his head back. 

When he looks up, she’s sure the mixture of fondness and heat in his eyes matches her own. But it’s his slackened jaw and wet, kiss-bruised mouth that feeds the extra bloom of pleasure that spreads across her chest. 

“ _Hey_.” She slides her hand gently down to his collar, and his breath hitches. “I want … but not here.”

“You’re right.” He nuzzles against her temple, whispering low in her ear, “I have imagined this far too many times to settle for a quick fuck in the midst of our enemy’s lair.”

The unexpected filth–his tongue and teeth around the hard, Germanic consonants of “quick fuck”–is the icing on the goddamn cake. 

“Yeah, let’s maybe do something the normal way for once.”

He presses her harder against the tree, letting the trunk take some of her weight, and slides a hand off her ass and around to the front of her pants, wedging it in the tight space between them, running his fingers along the inseam.

She hisses, biting down on the inside of her lip. If he keeps that up …

“Goddammit, Crane.”

He twists his hand so it’s his knuckles rolling against her, pushing the hard ridge of her pants seam into her folds. 

“Lieutenant, I fear, despite my increasing acquaintance with the 21st century, you will need to enlighten me about certain norms of your time. By _normal_ ,” he mutters, changing the movement of his hand against her to a firm rotation. _“_ Do you mean a fondle in the forest? A caress in the car?”

She lets her face fall into the crook of his neck as she rides his fist, breathing in the warm smell of him–sweat, shampoo, detergent, his farmer’s-market beard oil–that after living together these months, she associates entirely with _home._

“Shut _up._ ”

“Do I not amuse you?” She has no idea how he’s still coherent, feeling how hard he is against her thigh. The man can really talk through anything. She imagines shutting him up by sitting on his face, his long fingers curling just so inside of her–

And that’s all it takes. The tension–has it even been longer than two minutes?–peaks and breaks and she’s _coming._ It’s quick and muted and not enough, but it’s _something.  
_

After a few brief moments of shuddering release, he lets her slide down the trunk and back onto her feet.

He is fucking _beaming;_ of course he is.

“ _Jesus._ Okay, we’re going home,” she pants, pushing against his chest. “And we’re doing this in a bed. Or something. But not here, not in the woods, not in the car. Can you handle yourself until then?”

He shifts a little uncomfortably at her question and _dammit,_ why couldn’t she keep her eyes off it?

“Perhaps, Lieutenant, if you cease looking at me with your tongue positioned thusly.”

She steps away from him and grabs the bag of gear he’d dropped. “Yeah, well, you just …” she sighs, gesturing vaguely with her fist to simulate whatever it was he just did to her. “Against a _tree._ Turnabout is fair play.”

He lifts the bag from her hands and swings it over his shoulder, freeing up his right hand to draws her left to his lips, kissing all three sets of knuckles in a move that’s surprisingly hot. “I very much look forward to the play that awaits with you.”


	5. Chapter 5

When Abbie fumbles for her house key on their porch, he is first to break the heavy silence that endured throughout their ride home.

“Do you remember, Lieutenant, the day you broke into Sheriff Corbin’s cabin so that I might have a place to live?”

She pauses and looks up at him, brow furrowed. “Yeah? How could I forget?”

He moves closer, blocking the streetlight faintly illuminating the door and causing her to miss her aim at the deadbolt. His voice drops to the same register as it had earlier, in Pandora’s lair, “Ah, but do you remember what I said to you?”

She’s growing impatient to get inside, but fumbles the key _again._ “Something about breaking the law. Which we’ve done _plenty_ of times.”

“No, no,” he plucks the key ring from her fingers and slides the key right into the lock, “Not quite. I said, ‘Imagine the delinquency we could perpetrate if we really put our minds to it.’“

She sucks in a swift breath; she remembers. She remembers the spike of heat that she wrestled down when he’d said it. Then, and so many other times, she fought, denied, the strange friction she’d felt with this strange guy that was a constant companion as they worked side-by-side–the strange friction she could always write off as simply the product of the strange circumstances they landed in.

But then that weirdo became her partner, that partner became her friend, that friend became a man, and that _man_ became …

“ _Crane_.”

“I cannot say that I was thinking wholly of _breaking-and-entering._ The way your mouth curved around the flashlight … has fueled many a fond hope since.”

She glances down at his fingers, just shadows against the door, poised to turn the key, and thinks of her _own_ fantasies.

“Open the fucking door,” she whispers.

‘You’re certain?” 

Fucking _tease._ “So help me God, Crane, I will kick it down if you don’t turn the damn key.”

He crowds around her even closer and she can feel _all_ of him against her backside.

“Such impatience.” 

He shoves the door open and swallows audibly behind her. Is he having second thoughts? But then a hand slides to her waist, up under the hem of her pullover, and they are sure as hell not backing out now.

“Ladies first,” he says simply, and nudges her forward.

* * *

It’s a lot of action all at once; the brief but tense anticipation on the porch gives way to a flurry of movement–shedding gear, hopping out of boots, a dash to the downstairs bathroom and then to the kitchen for water.

She just sets her glass down on the counter when finds herself being scooped up into his arms and carried toward the staircase.

“I have legs, Crane,” she laughs.

“Ah, but I can take the stairs _much_ faster.”

“Was that seriously a short-person joke? You think–”

“You’ll forgive me later.” He tightens his grip on her and begins taking the stairs two at a time. “And perhaps you’ll even be grateful for my superior height.”

His arrogance is usually just annoying as hell; this, though, _this_ makes her want to groan in an entirely different way. 

She retaliates by slipping her hand into the deep ‘v’ of his shirt. His Adam’s apple bobs. _Good.  
_

“Your bedroom or mine?”

“Mine.”

They’re down the hall in four long strides and to her bed in two more, where he deposits her on the mattress. In silent agreement, they strip off their own clothing. She needs to feel skin against skin, and not get tangled up in zippers and buttons, and makes quick work of her pants and pullover.

As he messes with the closures on his breeches, she reaches across to her nightstand to turn on the light. She wants to see him–not the grainy blues of darkness, but the crisper, fuller, warmer colors of incandescent light–and hopes he doesn’t mind. God knows what his points of reference are.

His gaze on her is so fucking heated she feels like she’s going to melt. “I am glad that we are, as ever, on the same page, Lieutenant.” 

“Get your pants off and get into my bed.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Demanding.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t like it.”

She pulls her tank top over her head, and when she shakes free of it, he’s standing before her, naked, hard, and _–wow._

Audaciously, she licks her lips and rakes her eyes over him. “Knew you were packin’, Crane.”

He reaches forward and runs his index finger along the scallop edge of her bra. “You’ve been looking, Lieutenant?”

She shrugs, trying to appear at least a little nonchalant about his touch, his body, all of this. It’s not really working. “You kinda put it out there.”

His fingers reach the clasp nestled between her breasts. Deftly, he flicks it open and pushes the cups aside, then the straps off her shoulders.

So much for teaching him how to unhook a bra.

“And what shall I say of your own wicked curves?” Her breath hitches when he pinches her nipples between thumbs and forefingers. “You are exquisite.”

“I know I’ve caught you staring at my ass a few times.”

“Well, yes. But, no.” He gently presses her back onto the mattress. “Not in so vulgar a manner as you imply. Or _not only.”_

He kisses her gently, then moves down her throat, across her chest, to take a hardened nipple between his teeth. She buries her hand in his hair and gives into the urge to tug. To her satisfaction–and reference file for later–he grunts, and grinds his cock against her thigh.

He moves down to her stomach, monologuing as he tongues a trail across the ridges of the her abdomen. 

“You are not merely comely, you are a goddess in the flesh.” 

Planting a kiss on her hipbone, he hooks the edge of her underwear and works them slowly off her hips, her thighs, past her knees, backing all the way off the end of the bed.

She should feel exposed. She _should._ But she doesn’t. She wants him to see all of her, to know all of her.

“Your form, Lieutenant ... if it's true that the earthly beauty of Helen launched one thousand ships, yours, my treasure, would launch ten thousand. I am but a beggar at your feet.”

“You think you’re so smooth.”

His gaze travels indulgently over her naked body, and he simply lifts his brow and shrugs. “Well, I have managed this, have I not?”

She makes like she’s going to throw a pillow at him. “Cocky son-of-a-bitch.”

He responds by kneeling on the rug and dragging her down the quilt so she’s right at the edge, her legs steadied over his shoulders. “I endeavor, _Miss Mills,_ to excel in all manner of necessary life _skills._ ”

Really, it just makes her wetter.

He places an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of her thigh, and then rests his head against it to watch her as he parts her folds with his fingers, looping a figure-eight around first her clit then her entrance.

“Is this …?”

She chases the friction from his fingers. “Yeah.”

His touch becomes firmer, more sure, and she shudders, head to toe, when he dips one finger into her pussy, and then a second. 

When he adds his thumb, a barely-there caress of her swollen clit, she writhes and bucks against his hand, seeking _more._

“Fuck, Crane!” His skims over her again, and again, firmer, but the little bolts of pleasure are nowhere near enough. It's far too leisurely. _“Fuck.”_

Still, he is grinning like a goddamn Cheshire cat.

“Lieutenant,” he rasps. “May I use my mouth?”

She’s fantasized about this, certainly, but she’s never been eaten out by a guy with so heavy a beard, and she is _not_ prepared for the feeling of it against her sensitive skin. She wonders idly if her grooming is strange to him, but he makes no note of it, and is so enthusiastically exploring her, he must not care. 

But the first touch of his tongue to her cunt is almost too much.

“God’s _wounds_ ,” she whispers.

He chuckles, low and deep, at her use of his own archaic vocabulary, and she can feel it vibrate through her core.

“I need you inside of me, Crane. _Now.”_

Instead of obeying, he lifts her hips higher, and the sight of his long fingers wrapped around her body, the contrast of his pale, bony sinew on her darker, softer flesh, is transporting. How the fuck did she get here again? He opens his eyes and holds her gaze as he so, so lightly presses her hood back with his lips and sucks on her clit. 

She doesn’t want to know how he got so adept at this, because _goddammit_ if she were Katrina, she’d have never left the cabin. More evidence of that bitch’s insanity.

He flicks the tip of his tongue against her clit once more, then focuses in with steady, circular motion. She wants to keep watching him, his head buried between her thighs, tasting her, but she can’t keep her eyes open against the building pleasure. She claws at the sheets and is spiraling up higher, and higher, to _is-this-possible_ …

She comes hard, crying out, riding his lips and tongue through her long release.

“More,” she pants, as he shifts back onto the bed and settles his weight over her; skinny as he is, he’s still a lot for her petite frame to bear. “We can do more later.”

“Oh, you can count on it, Lieutenant.”

“Condom.” She slides her hands down his back and palms his ass, raising her head, too, to nip at his collarbone. “On the nightstand. There’s lube, too.”  

He sits up, pushes his hair back off his forehead, and grabs what he needs.  
She reaches over to help him, but he swats her hand away. 

“I am versed in the use of modern prophylactics.”

She flops back down, and idly tweaks a nipple as he slides the condom on and moves back over her, pinning her hands on either side of her head.

“And I fear that if you are to touch me, this will all end rather quickly.”

He drops a quick kiss on her lips, and squirms between her thighs.

“Just fuck me already, Crane.”

She isn’t prepared for it when he thrusts inside of her, not just the sensation of being filled–although it’d been _months_ since she’d been with anyone–but the feeling of _oneness_ with _him._

“You are, Abbie, a most divine creature.”

And that’s the last of his control. Slow, sensual, drawn-out, will happen later. She’s pushed back into the pillows, stuttering wordlessly, and only vaguely aware of her wooden headboard rhythmically hitting the wall behind her.

He reaches down and pulls one of her knees up to change the angle, and she takes the hint to wrap her legs around his hips. He rewards her with a low groan and a string of filthy words.

“Bloody … fuck … _fuck … “_

It’s hot and sweaty and claustrophobic and normally she’d be self-conscious about the sounds of their joining, that she’s _so_ wet the condom is squeaking.

But she wants it to be raw and messy and animalistic. She wants it to be everything. 

She wants it to be everything with _him._

She feels the vertical wall of climax coming, but he’s lost all rhythm and with the friction suddenly so erratic, there’s _no way_ she can come unassisted. Snaking a hand down she catches the edge of the cliff just as he tumbles over himself, grunting softly.

He collapses, boneless, on top of her. Panting her name. “Abbie. _Abbie_.”

She reaches up and pushes his damp hair out of his eyes. 

Full and sated, she sighs. “ _Damn_ , Crane.”

* * *

“You going to fix me breakfast?”

“No,” he says gently, tucking her against his chest. “But there is, I believe, leftover Chinese.”

“Seriously, Crane? I haven’t worked my ass off my whole life to eat take-out leftovers for breakfast … even if it’s 3AM.”

“I jest.” He slides his hand down her thigh, wrapping it easily around her whole quad. “Seeing as how you need proper sustenance for the day’s coming activities.” 

She kicks at his shin ineffectually with her heel. “You did not just say that.”

“I did.”

She presses a soft kiss to his collarbone and traces the long scar on his chest, which has faded considerably over the past few years, with a fingernail. For several quiet minutes, she simply listens to his breathing and heartbeat, her face turned into the crook of his neck.

“Hey. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“No, thank you, Abbie. I was … I thought …” He trails off.

“That all was lost?” He shifts slightly, and she feels his beard catch in her hair and his lips rest on her forehead.

“I don’t know what I would have done. And that I was too foolish to tell you–”

She shushes him and pushes down on his sternum. “I knew. I _know._ It’s not about words, Crane.”

“Is that a statement for my benefit or for yours?”

“Neither. It’s just the truth.”

She levers herself up to straddle him across the stomach, nerves back on high alert with the reintroduction of friction between her legs. She keeps a hand on his chest and just _looks_ at him–his hair splayed across her satin pillowcase, the round bruise blossoming on the straight line of his clavicle, the hard right angles of his deltoids, his eyes dark, focused on her face, and just slightly crossed.

The thing she feels in that moment is more than fondness, more than affection, more than the beautiful afterglow of a good fuck. She could leave it unsaid; he understands. But she doesn’t want to. Maybe for the first time in her life, she really, really doesn’t.

“I love you, Ichabod Crane.” 

He skims his fingers up her side and runs a thumb along the underside of her breast. His two front teeth show in just the hint of a rare smile. 

“You beat me to it,” he says slowly. 

And she leans over him, pushing her hips back, just far enough to brush the head of his half-hard cock. He anticipates her move and combs one hand into her hair to gather it back and out of the way behind her ear.

“Checkmate,” she sing-songs quietly, through a small but joyful smile that’s _almost_ a giggle, a bare inch from his mouth, so close his beard tickles her face. Before he can reply, she pulls his bottom lip between hers, catching it with her teeth.


End file.
